


Memories of Affection

by itsokaybabytheresnoexit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Harry Potter - Freeform, Love, M/M, Multi, POV Tom Riddle, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Tom Riddle, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sane Tom Riddle, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27262135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsokaybabytheresnoexit/pseuds/itsokaybabytheresnoexit
Summary: Lord Voldemort looks back into the three instances in which he has felt love in his life. Most of them are sex-related, but cut the boy some slack."When the corridors were empty, Abraxas enjoyed throwing his hand over my shoulder, when we walked across some secret passage he would slide lower, near my waist."
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Tom Riddle, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort, Rabastan Lestrange/Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle/Voldemort
Kudos: 18





	Memories of Affection

When the corridors were empty, Abraxas enjoyed throwing his hand over my shoulder, when we walked across some secret passage he would slide lower, near my waist.  
“Not here,” I’d say stiffly. “Someone might see us.” Sodomy was not welcomed these days.  
“Oh shut up, Tom.” He’d push his fingers on my lips then, trailing them over my face, he’d grab my hand or kiss my jaw.

“You haven’t anything to lose, you rich, rich kid. If I get caught, it’s over.”  
“None-sense,” he used to declare, pushing his ashen blonde hair away, strands had already taken to growing white. Clear, blue eyes would meet mine. His breath smelled like mint and old money. “I’ll take you in, I’ll have you be my little whore,” he mused loudly. His voice echoed all around the corridor, sliding down the walls like blood.  
“Abraxas, I’m warning you!” I’d furrow my brows then, and I’d turn to see him, handsome as ever, playfully pulling me closer, making me feel the hardness of his manhood.  
“You’d like that? You’d like to be all ready for me, eager, stretched out, so I can take you whenever I like, hear you moan beneath me? Wouldn’t you adore being my slut, Tom?”

I could never stay mad at him, only playfully punch him in the arm and tell him he was mad, and cruel and horrible and have the persistent sensation that I am describing myself.

Even afterwards, when I left to travel 'round the world and hastily returned from Greece at the  
word of his incurable sickness -time, time, time, making frail shadows of us all- he teased me, welcomed me in the manor.  
“You look so young,” he said. “God-damn it, Tom, you look so young. What have you done, who have you killed to look just like you did then?” He ran a hand over my jawline and my black curls. I knew I was handsome. “Your eyes only grow colder, the sole indication of age. The same shade of blue, but more distant. Will you pluck them out and replace them with bright blue stones, Tom?” He enjoyed saying my name. He was the only one I ever allowed to. He gave me that feeling inside my heart, made it grow heavy, sinking lower to my stomach and coming out of my throat, a violent rush of affection, of desire, a quiet murmur as I sat, holding his hand on his death-bed. “Carnations and blue tulips, on my grave. Alright, Tom?”

“Yes. Yes, anything you wish for.”  
“Blue tulips, no other colour.”  
“Of course.”  
“I’m still in love with you.” His bony hands wrapped around my face, he forced me to look at him. “God, oh God, a boy. So young, so beautiful- you must have some portrait in the attic. Who have you killed? What have you done, Dorian Gray?” I smiled at this.

“I’ll never tell you my secrets,” I whispered, kissing his hands. “Don’t go in the attic, though. For good measure.”

The second time I felt like that, I was as old as sin but didn’t look the part. A portrait of Abraxas hung behind my office. A boy opened the door and shut it behind him, the scent of his youthful body all over the room. His shirt half unbuttoned smooth chest exposed, tight pants, the figure of his body clear, see-through. I could see the way he desired me in his mind, the way he wished to strip himself naked and touch his cock, right there before my eyes, the way he wished to crawl on the hardwood floor and suck me off, to spread his legs wide and have me lick his hole with my tongue, to cum all over himself, to beg for me, to have me pin him against the wall and take him right then, right there.

Regulus had a lot of questions, about the death eaters, and blood supremacy, and battle tactics and immortality. He swayed towards me, coving to my side of the desk where the fireplace burned lively, sitting on it and spreading his legs ever so softly, giving himself to me, submitting to what I wanted to do. I felt a rush of desire. He kept swinging his leg, I remember, grazing mine with it, occasionally touching my waist with his knee or dragging it against my thigh slowly, torturously even. His hair was wet from the rainy night, I remember, his white shirt stuck on his body. He asked me to teach him the dark arts, he fluttered heavy eyelids- it was that cursed speciality of the Black family, something dark in their eyes, something dangerous, intriguing, arousing. I denied. The young may be kings of the world but we mustn’t grant their every wish. Besides, it was too late for me. On rainy days, I recall the way he had looked, illuminated softly by the fireplace, swinging his leg back and forth, and wish I had been more merciful- then and later.

“Corrupting the boys, Dorian Gray?” Mumbled Abraxas afterwards.  
“I didn’t do a thing, old friend. And it’s Voldemort now.” I was tired, thinking of drinking. “I’ll never say it- Dorian Gray is the next best thing. And I’m an old lover, not a friend.”  
I sighed. The fireplace burned brighter as rain poured outside.

Last, was She. Bellatrix was the woman, the only woman, the original woman, made by the Gods for the doomed men. She swayed her body when she walked, luscious curves, thick, red lips, full breasts, high cheekbones, long hair, those dark eyes, that heavy stare, that invitation to sin without return. When she danced, I often found that I could not breathe. My eyes burned red, my skin was white as paper, I looked a monster- Bellatrix looked like God, a divinity my immortality could not reach. She talked in that voice that made you want to do things, she talked like she was stripping off her clothes one by one, she talked like she knew so much better than you, she talked like grace, she talked like money, she talked like hell.

On sleepless nights we’d meet down by the dining room- to get a glass of water, to hear a sound, to see each other. We played chess sometimes, or read side by side, I caressed her hair sometimes, we walked out in the freezing cold, we walked by the lake, she pointed out herself at the night sky- always a bright star, high up, shining wildly. “Bella,” I would whisper her name, I would feel it on my lips as if it were the most private parts of her body.

When she was nineteen she wore a black dress laced with diamonds and danced all night long, Nagini slid up her body, touched her ankles, her hands, her belly, she slithered up her neck and twisted all around- and when the dance was over I found her alone in a big, empty room, and I said “Forgive me,” before I kissed her, softly, passionately, like I wanted to- we never touched after that, we never acknowledged it. She beat me at duels, she talked, she fought, her body trembled, shivered- she never knew, not ever. She never knew how I loved her, that particular way, the extension of it, that capacity I had for love, though stained as it was, she never even considered it, not when she was a girl, not when she was the army general, not even in our intimate moments, not when she died, not afterwards, in that great and dark beyond. She never knew, I suspect, she was the woman of my life, nevertheless oblivious to it all, careless- yes: preferred my presence, quiet, undisturbed. Bellatrix only liked me near. That was all.


End file.
